Happenings From The Auntie B's Wax World Headquarters

Archive for March, 2017

Disclaimer: This is not a nasty, dirty, naughty, slang-word post. It’s completely G-rated and any misinterpretation of rhetoric is no fault of the author.

The definition of cock…

1. a male chicken; rooster
2. the male of any bird, especially of the gallinaceous kind

Now that we’re on the same page, talking about roosters (aka cocks), I can proceed.

I blame the French. Apparently they are the ones who brought cocks into our kitchens.

“The rooster is an essential element of the countryside because of his role as the alarm clock and guardian. Day after day, he wakes up at the crack of dawn and proudly crows at the sun, waking up the rest of the farm. He proudly struts around the farmyard, bobbing his tail feathers, and bravely protects the rest of the flock.”

“Because color is so important to the French Country look, the rooster is the perfect accessory for many French Country homes and kitchens. Large ceramic roosters are common decorations on countertops and tables. Of course, ceramic statues aren’t the only way to decorate with roosters. They’re also used as motifs on dining linens.”**

I have a cock kitchen. I think it began when I got married and inherited Husby’s cocks.

Like this:

I’m not really sure what tone this post should take. It could be sad or happy. The best word would be bittersweet, I guess.

The times they are a-changing, and with those time we too must change, make adjustments, and relinquish physical objects that hold many memories.

It was a big day at my parents’ house, Husby and I were there to give support and provide assistance. I could say it was the day the music died, but it’s more accurate to say it was the day the piano found a new home.

The piano cost $400 when it was purchased new. I have no idea what year that was. It was owned by the Sisters of St. Joseph, the nuns who taught school and gave the children of St. Mary’s school piano lessons inside the convent. Oh that convent! That’s another story though. The sisters eventually passed it on/sold it to my mom’s aunt and uncle. I have no idea how long they had it, but at some point, almost five decades ago the piano was given to my parents and found a place in my childhood home.

It’s an old piano and a very big one at that – a Stark upright grand. The room in which it was housed was dubbed “the piano room.” My mom played that piano for pleasure for many years and taught me and my sister how to play until we got so good we needed instructions from other people. Oh the countless scales I practiced, and moved from reading music for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the works of Chopin, Bartok, Bach and many other great composers.

Alas, the time came when the piano room must once again become a bedroom, which it was before the piano arrived so many, many years ago. In order for it to become a bedroom again, the piano had to go. Away. Out of the house.

Skinny hallway

Donated to Keys for Kids, easier than selling and given to a wonderful charity, the piano left my childhood home. The moving guys were fabulous and did the job without a nick to the walls or dirt to the carpet, and in record time.

Piano movers amaze me. I know they do it every day, but still. One of the guys moving the piano injured his back on the last job – he got to carry the bench out to the truck. But he also got to be the spotter/reinforcement as the piano was wheeled down the ramp.

I had a little chat with one of the mover guys, telling him I learned to play on that piano. He told me a couple of stories about the pianos he’s moved. One was of an old woman who’s husband played, and when he died she donated the piano to Keys for Kids. She cried the whole time they moved that piano out of her house. It was as if the last remnant of her husband left her house with the piano. My heart nearly broke. The mover guy said they see lots of cases like this, and I feel like they’re compassionate and gentle when they move these pieces of history and personal attachment.

Away goes the piano of my youth. I wasn’t overly emotional about it as I have two pianos in own my house. The thing is, I haven’t played in years. I was damn good at the keyboard, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t bring more music to my house and to my life.

The digital. A college graduation gift from my entire family, which saved my sanity and brought me joy in hard times. Plus, it has a plug for headphones for practicing!

The big one. Similar to the one donated by my parents. This one was given to me by a friend who gave it to me for the cost of moving it from her house to mine. It’s not been tuned since I received it nearly twenty years ago. Who cares? It’s a lovely piece of furniture and sounds really old-timey.

This event, my witnessing and support of the removal of the piano of my childhood, has inspired me to take to the keyboard again while I’m able. Music is divinity, and I think my parents would be happy and proud to see me play again. After all, it was their piano that introduced me to the glory of music.

P.S. to Mom and Dad ~ After my time with you during the piano removal I saw a black squirrel run across my back yard. Seemed to be a sign. Diggy says make that room into a bedroom again. It’s right and good.

Pass It On

Like this:

It’s peaceful and calm here at the Auntie B’s Wax World Headquarters. There’s been no damage done. For a minute there (hours?/days?) I was actually kind of scared.

For nearly three days straight we had winds that would knock your sock off, if you were brave enough to go outside that is. I don’t mean wind, I mean WIND. Three days of regular winds that registered at least twenty miles per hour with gusts up to fifty miles per hour or more. Seemed like more to me, especially when I was unable to relax in the bathtub for all the roaring outside, as well as stuff flying around and hitting the side of the house.

For three days I was on heightened alert for broken windows and a torn off roof. I’ve never experience such unrelenting wind. WIND. It was almost like a nonstop tornado, except it wasn’t twirly and I didn’t see any witches flying around in the gusts, nor did I get whisked away to Oz.

But there was this…

Sticks

Branches

Sticks and Branches

Thankfully the Headquarters is intact. There will be much clean-up outside, but I’ll leave most of that chore to Husby as 1) he loves chores and 2) he wants to play with his chainsaw.

Speaking of Husby and the past few days of ferocious winds, I’d like to present a somewhat delightful yet weird video. The song was sung by Husby’s class in grade school, and to this day he performs it for me when appropriate (lately for sure) along with a very creative interpretive dance. The man in the video is definitely not Husby, but a man with equal vivaciousness for life. Enjoy!